


An Unexpected Quarter

by Fyre



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ancient Greece, Ancient History, Covert Good Deeds, and the related side effects, ye olde medicine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:54:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28071273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: Under the wine-dark sky, Aziraphale picked his way up the winding path to the sanctuary.He had been called back to Heaven urgently about unauthorised miracles several days earlier. Someone – certainly not one of the Host – had been healing humans on earth. Not just patching them up with their make-shift medical treatments and herbal soups, but actuallyhealingthem.
Comments: 22
Kudos: 101
Collections: "O Lord Heal This Gift Exchange 2020" [OLHTS discord server]





	An Unexpected Quarter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Djapchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djapchan/gifts).



Under the wine-dark sky, Aziraphale picked his way up the winding path to the sanctuary.

He had been called back to Heaven urgently about unauthorised miracles several days earlier. Someone – certainly not one of the Host – had been healing humans on earth. Not just patching them up with their make-shift medical treatments and herbal soups, but actually _healing_ them.

“You can see the problem,” Gabriel had said, shaking his head grimly. “If they start losing faith in us – in _Her_ – then who knows where it could end up?”

Personally, Aziraphale couldn’t see the problem. He’d sat down and read through the case notes carefully. From what he could understand, the people who had been healed had become more pious and while they used a different name for Her, the overall effect was the same.

It was far more likely that Gabriel didn’t like humans getting up to things he didn’t understand. As much as he smiled and said they were serving them, it always felt like inverted commas clanged into place around the concept of ‘service’.

By the thin moonlight, the white flagstones leading up to the sanctuary gleamed.

The building wasn’t altogether impressive: plain, square, white stone with rough-edged pillars. It had been thrown up in a hurry. A statue stood outside, a twisty bronze staff held in a closed hand. The metal had already started staining the white stone around it.

Unsurprisingly, several humans were loitering outside, some laid on makeshift stretchers, others sitting in quiet huddles outside the dark wooden doors. No wonder, if there was a true healer present. One had to find help where one could.

“Is it closed?” he asked one of them.

The woman squinted up at him, eyes hazed by cataracts. “Full,” she whispered. “No room for more now. We wait for dawn.”

“And the healer, they’re still here?”

She nodded, pointing a knotted finger into the building.

Aziraphale laid a hand on her head, offering her some little peace, then made his way over the doors and pushed one of them open. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lamplight within the temple, then he blinked, squinting again.

The entire floor appeared to be wriggling.

“Snakes?”

The door creaked closed behind him, making the lamplight flicker. The room wasn’t large, barely ten paces across, and on each wall, there were human-sized horizontal niches, every one of which was occupied by a human. Some of them were asleep, others were watching the roiling mess of snakes on the floor with trepidation.

“No more room tonight,” a painfully familiar voice said. “You can wait outside for morning.”

Aziraphale pivoted as if on casters to find the speaker. They were bent over one of the humans, dressed in the local fashion, a long shawl draped over their hair, which Aziraphale just _knew_ was going to be red.

“I think not,” he said, heart in his mouth.

The healer stiffened. “Ah,” they said. “Shit.” They turned and yes…

Aziraphale nodded slightly. “Hello, Crawly.”

The demon knocked his fist against his hip. “Right. So. Um. This isn’t what it looks like.”

The angel raised a sceptical eyebrow. “You mean you’re not pretending to be a human healer and healing sick humans in a temple of Asclepius, surrounded by snakes?”

Crawly winced. “Okay, yeah, when you put it like that, it does sound a bit…” He waggled a hand. “I mean, it’s not like I’m doing _much_. Just little bits and pieces. Infection here, broken bone there. Hardly a miracle at all, really.”

Not much, until one remembered he was meant to be a demon. _Was_ a demon.

Aziraphale folded his arms sternly, lifting his chin. “Well, then, what are you playing at? You know very well you can’t just go around doing…” He motioned around them with a finger.

To his astonishment, Crawly made a face at him. “Yeah, and you’re going to stop me, are you?”

“Yes!” Aziraphale said indignantly. “Obviously!”

“And leave these poor bastards to suffer?”

“Ye… er…” He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. “Well, I do _have_ to, you see.”

Crowley grinned. “You’ll have to catch me first,” he said and suddenly, there was one more snake wriggling rapidly across the floor, heading for a small door in the back wall.

“Crawly!” Aziraphale exclaimed, dashing after him, taking care not to tread on the other little fellows. “For goodness’ sake, stop!”

“So long, ssssssucker!” Crawly hooted as he scooted right through the door.

Aziraphale burst out through the door and immediately yelped in surprise and alarm. “Oh, you _fiend_!” No wonder Crawly had come out in snake form! The entire place was a thicket of thorns and brambles, catching on his tunic and scratching at his legs. He dragged himself through them and onto the rocky ground that led further up the hillside.

Ahead of him, he could see the skinny shadow of the demon back on two legs and running as fast as he could.

Aziraphale ducked down, snatching up a rock and hurled it with all the precision due to a soldier of the Almighty.

Even across the distance, he heard Crawly’s grunt when it smacked him in the hip, throwing him off-balance and sending him skittering off the path, tumbling end over end down the wiry grass-scrubbed hillside.

“Oh!” Aziraphale winced. “Oh dear.” He bustled up along the path, peering down into the bushes, searching for the demon. “Crawly?”

“What?” The grumpy reply floated up.

Movement in the tangle of bushes caught his eye and Aziraphale scrambled down, loose rocks skittering ahead of him, peppering the demon below, who responded in true demonic style by saying rude things and yelling “Ow!” a lot.

“Stop fussing,” the angel huffed, reaching down and hoisting Crowley out of the bushes by the back of his robe.

The demon shoved his hands away, dusting himself off. “You’re the one who knocked me into the shrubbery,” he retorted, hissing as he tugged some twigs from the loose curls of his hair. “Stoning me, eh? Did that make you feel better? Make you feel all Holy?”

“It barely grazed you.” Aziraphale glowered. “And you _know_ you can’t just go around healing humans! Your side wouldn’t like it any more than mine!”

The demon made an inarticulate sound, lifting his shawl off his head and shaking out, before putting it back in place. “Not like upstairs is doing anything,” he said tartly. “All these people praying for intercession and the only time anyone shows up, it’s to stop someone helping them?”

“Stop a _demon_ ,” Aziraphale said indignantly. “Who knows what foul schemes you have up your sleeves? You could be corrupting every one of them!”

Crawly rolled his eyes expressively. “Uh huh. Right. And it’s nothing to do with the fact that your lot don’t like someone stealing their thunder?” He flapped an arm. “Anyway look! Nothing up my sleeves! Just my arms.”

The angel eyed him. “I doubt that. Why else would you help them, if not for some nefarious reason?”

The demon stared at him. “I couldn’t just do something because I wanted to?”

“Oh you just _wanted_ to help the humans? You expect me to believe that?”

The demon hunched his shoulders. “Why not? You do stupid human stuff too.”

“I do not!” Aziraphale protested hotly.

“Bread.”

“I… er… yes, well, I do like bread.”

“Weren’t ordered to, were you?” Crawly jabbed a finger at him. “You ate it because you wanted to.”

Aziraphale’s shoulders sagged. “Yes. I suppose I did.”

“See? I can want to do stuff too.”

And what he wanted, Aziraphale thought in bewilderment, was to heal a few humans. “Oh. Hm.”

Crawly stooped, hiking up the end of his robes and rubbed at his scratched legs. “I’m going to go and patch myself up,” he declared. “You can hang around if you want or bugger off.” He marched back up the hill, as if he hadn’t been told off by an angel.

Aziraphale hurried after him. “But you can’t stay here!”

Crawly made a disparaging sound over his shoulder. “Says you.”

“My dear, think logically,” the angel insisted. “Staying in one place is a bad idea! They sent me this time, but next time, they may not pick someone who will actually stop to speak to you. If they sent Michael or – Heaven preserve you – Sandalphon, you’d… well, you’d be in a lot of trouble.”

Crawly spun around to face him, staring and still walking backwards. “And you care because…?”

“I don’t!” Aziraphale blushed furiously. “I mean– I– just– it’s hardly sporting, is it?”

The demon grinned crookedly. “Right.” He turned to continue down the path. “D’you want some bread and cheese? While you’re here?”

“Me?”

“Don’t see anyone else about, angel.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale blinked. “Well… er…”

“Consider it supervising my departure,” the demon called back, a flash of a grin visible in the moonlight. “You can come and make sure I pack.”

Aziraphale’s mood brightened. “So you _will_ stop?” he asked, quickening his pace.

“I’ll stop staying in one place,” Crawly replied, leading him down to another doorway at the back of the temple. He pushed the wooden door open and Aziraphale realised too late that he could well be walking into a trap.

He stopped dead in surprise.

Instead of a horde of demons and swords and unholy fire, there was a small, square room with a small pallet bed and a table with two stools.

“You… live here?”

Crawly shrugged, wandering over to haul a box out from under the bed. “For now.”

What a peculiar concept. Aziraphale had spent all of his existence wandering from place to place, following the orders he was given and moving on. The thought of making a place that was his own, not borrowed or bartered or propped against a wall seemed very indulgent.

“Sit down, angel,” the demon said with a wave of his hand. “You’re probably scratched to buggery as well.”

Aziraphale obeyed without thinking, sitting and peering down at his legs. “I am, rather. Have you any idea how much this stings?” He shot a glare at the demon. “No thanks to you, running off like that. Or slithering off like that.”

Crawly snorted, hefting the box onto the table and rummaging through it. “Says the angel who snuck up on me.” He withdrew a small clay pot and set it on the table, then returned the box to the bed. “I’ll mix us up a tisane. Just in case. Nasty stuff in the bushes here.”

“A tisane?” Aziraphale watched him doubtfully, as he went over to the small fire pit and sparked a flame. “You mean you’ve been giving them medicine?”

Poking at the fire, Crawly grinned. “You know humans. You could heal them in a trice, but they like to see some kind of… razzle dazzle. Bit of chanting and smoke and mirrors and magic potions. Makes them feel like something actually happened.”

That, Aziraphale had to admit, was true.

“So what’s in this, then?” he inquired, picking up the jar and pulling out the stopper.

“Mandragora,” Crawly said, setting a pot over the flames, half-filled with water. “Good for a painkiller, plus it’s got a dozen other uses. Humans grind it up and put it in food and drinks all the time.” He held out a hand. “Pass it down.”

Aziraphale did so, watching him. “How do you know so much about it?”

The demon shrugged. “Like gardens,” he said.

“Oh.” Aziraphale picked a stray thorn from his tunic. He had been enjoying little pleasure of earth himself. It was strange to find that he wasn’t the only one to do so. “I… I didn’t know.”

Crawly straightened up from the fire to wander across the room to a shelf, fetching a pair of clay cups. “Not exactly in the job description, is it?” He returned with a basket, which he set on the table, and took out some bread and a lump of goat’s cheese. “Like this.” He tore a piece off the loaf and offered it. “Hardly in your remit, eh?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks warmed. “No,” he conceded gingerly, taking the bread, “but we _do_ have to blend in.”

“Uh huh.” Crawly flopped down onto the other stool. “Course we do.”

“And humans get very suspicious if we don’t eat,” Aziraphale added defensively.

“Yeah, definitely. Don’t want a suspicious human now, do we?” The demon was grinning.

“Oh, be quiet,” Aziraphale grumbled, breaking a piece off the cheese and popping it in his mouth.

Crawly snickered, rolling back to his feet and across to the fire. He sprinkled some of the ground plant matter into the water, stirring it for a moment, then returned with the pot to the table. The liquid had taken on a different hue, the scent faint but potent.

“Are you sure that’s safe for… well… non-human beings such as ourselves?”

“Course!” Crawly settled down on his stool. “And if it can’t kill humans, it’s not going to do us any harm.” To demonstrate, he took a generous mouthful.

Warily, Aziraphale took a sip. Though bitter, it certainly wasn’t the worst thing he had ever tasted. “I do wonder,” he mused, “how humans work out which plants have which effects.”

Crawly wrinkled his nose. “Usual way, I s’pose. Eat it and if they don’t die, they can cross-reference what it does.” He broke a piece of cheese off the lump. “Still no idea which of them looked at an egg coming out a bird’s arse and went ‘I’m going to put that in water that can cook my skin off and then unwrap it and shove it in my piehole’.”

Aziraphale almost snorted his drink into his nose, which only made Crawly grin more widely.

“Your face!” the demon hooted.

Aziraphale dabbed at his nose and mouth. “You needn’t laugh,” he grumbled.

“I needn’t,” Crawly agreed, chuckling, “but I’m still going to.”

The angel harrumphed, but still took another piece of bread, adding some cheese to it. “You said something about packing.”

“During dinner?” Crawly clasped a hand to his heart. “I’m appalled by your table manners.”

Aziraphale pulled a face at him. “I’m here to make sure you leave.”

“And eat my food and drink my brews,” Crawly retorted, but he did wander back towards the bed and start sifting through his box. “Most of this can stay here for the next person who shows up. There’s always going to be some holy man or healer or something up here.”

“Oh?”

“Mm.” The demon groped under the bed. “House of Asclepius. Healer bloke. Might leave the snakes. Bit of a motif thing.” He grinned over his shoulder. “And it stops people from stamping on their heads if they think they’re good for your health. Win-win, eh?”

“Is that why they’re here? Are they good for health?” Aziraphale inquired, feeling pleasantly warmed by the tincture.

“Pfft.” Crawly disappeared halfway under the low bed again. “They’re _snakes_ , angel. They’re mostly just pest control.”

“And yet here you are,” Aziraphale muttered into his cup. He blinked stupidly at the contents, then at the demon, who was staring at him with an expression of stunned delight. “Oh. Er. I beg your pardon.”

“You _insulted_ me.” Crawly scrambled around to lean up on his stool. “Do it again!”

“You put something in my drink!”

“Bollocks I did!” Crawly grinned at him. “S’just medicine. Calms things down. Relaxes you. Stops things from hurting. Nothing in there to make you insult your generous host.”

Aziraphale put the cup down. “There must be something in it,” he insisted. “I would never be so rude!”

“Pfft. Bet you would.” Crawly crawled up onto the stool. “Just not out loud.”

“Really!” Aziraphale folded his arms indignantly. “I’m an _angel_.”

“Uh huh.” The damned demon swayed from side to side, grinning at him. “ _You_ said it.”

Which was true, unfortunately. The thought had danced across Aziraphale’s mind, then straight out of his mouth.

He shoved the cup firmly away from him. “I shan’t be having any more of that, thank you very much!”

Crawly snatched up his own cup and knocked back the contents in one swallow, stray drips trickling over his chin and down his throat. “How’s that? We’re even now.”

The liquid left shiny trails on Crawly’s skin. How very odd. Like little snakes wriggling down from his jaw to his collar. And he very nearly reached out to touch them, but caught himself, clasping his hands determinedly together in his lap.

“You… spilled some,” he said stiffly.

Crawly rubbed at his throat with the back of his hand. “A bit, yeah.” He scrunched his nose. “You all right, angel? You’re looking a bit red.”

“I think,” Aziraphale said slowly, his thoughts strangely disjointed, as if they were floating in a cloud, “I may be reacting badly to your beverage. It’s doing the most peculiar thing to my…” He lifted one hand to gesture vaguely to his head.

Crawly peered at him. “Have you eaten today? I mean, apart from the bit of bread just now?”

“A little cheese.”

“Anything not just now,” the demon clarified. “When did you last eat?”

Aziraphale frowned. “Athens.”

“Not where. _When_?”

“No need to be so sharp,” Aziraphale said, pouting a little. “I’m not an idiot.” He sniffed. “Four days ago. Before I got called to come and tell you off.”

Crawly sighed and pushed the plate of bread and cheese towards him. “Eat some more,” he said. “It’ll help and then you can sober yourself up.”

“I’m not _drunk_.”

The demon grinned crookedly at him. “No, you’re not. You’re something else.” He nudged the plate again. “Eat up. I’ll pack and you can run me out of town.”

Grumbling under his breath about foul fiends and cunning wiles and evil tonics, Aziraphale dragged the plate closer. How strange that tearing the bread felt like the parting of the Red sea. Nonsense. It was bread. Ha. The bread sea.

He chuckled to himself, munching through the remains of the loaf, admiring the texture of the bread and the sweet-sharpness of the goat’s cheese. And as Crawly said, it seemed to bring things back into focus at least a little.

It wasn’t until much later that night, long after he’d watched the skinny silhouette walk away down the hillside in the moonlight, that he realised how unnecessarily kind Crawly had been to him.

Two days later, everyone waiting at the shrine of Asclepius found their ills cured and their bodies healed. Aziraphale got a commendation for the mass surge of faith. No, he wanted to say, he was just tying up loose ends. Nothing to fuss over.

Certainly not repaying a kindness. Never that. After all, who would believe it?


End file.
